Wake. French Toast. Bikes. Friend. Surf City. Shop. Trinkets. Art. Postcards. Books. Produce. Bikes. Apples. Crunch. Juice. Core. Trash. Shoot. Score! Arrive. HCBC. Lunch. Kitchen friends. Jeep. Beach. Walk. Waves. Lame. Shower. Doll up. Staff lounge. Bang. Notes. Paint. Admired. Pizza. K2. Ministry. Snack. Kids. Balloons. Over. Under. Pop! Rita’s. Sweedish fish. iPhone. Annoying. Fixed. Curfew. Friend. Birthday. Dance. Party. Swoon. Social media. Sleep. Zzz…..
On Saturday, some of my new friends and I began to plan cupcakes for some HCBC staff birthdays coming up this week to celebrate at our staff inning Sunday. Originally, we wanted to attempt to create a giant cupcake with the humongous coffee filters we have for our industrial sized coffee maker. But this endeavor was traded out for some simpler ones with beach decor (though I still haven’t lost the desire to attempt one with the filters).
Most of the ingredients were easy to locate at Target and/or CVS, all except toothpick umbrellas! Those little stinkers. So yesterday morning the dorm head and I set out on a quest to find them. We tried CVS, several small shops, two grocery stores on the island, and the 5 and Dime (which had about everything else you can imagine) all to no avail. I even bumper bumped a wall of a building in this journey without any success. After grabbing the gifts and some coffee we headed back to the conference center empty handed (minus the other shopping I got sucked into from entering so many shops). After dinner, I resumed the search for these little parasols and decided to call a number of places; Costco, Walmart, Michaels, and a few other dives on the island before making the drive. Nada. Zilch. Finally, a phone call to 5 Belo and a Jeep ride over the causeway brought us success. Check out the creations…
Blogging around this place is tricky because internet connection is spotty, but excuses aside I am currently blogging from a secret location I discovered while trying to watch Bachelorette online Sunday night. So here I sit on the stage over looking the entire dining hall bringing you some updates.
After those first few days things got busy and we got 150 adult singles for the weekend and then brought in 250 homeschoolers this past weekend. Lets just say I worked some 9-11 hour days and lost track of my spill count though I did drop a roll on some lady’s back. We also got some new servers, one of which is my “twinny” because even apart from our uniforms we continuously dress alike unintentionally (i.e. matching headbands, shirts, etc).
While work is great, I’ve also been doing some pretty fun stuff too.
Take a look:
|Before and after our dance in the rain!|
|Grabbing ice cream at the cutest ice cream parlor the Big Dipper in Surf City.|
|Beach, surf and bike|
|Can’t go wrong with a little Chegg action even when trying the spiciest sauce (Ludicrous!)|
|And as always a sunset (add in a bike ride and its the perfect beach evening!)|
Now I’m off to start my second lunch shift of middle school week. What a whirlwind and I got a nice juice, French toast, milk and whatever else mixture to clear at breakfast. Eat up!
Today was my first day of work and I really like serving in the dining hall. I found out I actually had to carry trays on my shoulder. Its going to be an interesting summer for a klutzy gal like me. I think I’ll do a spill/drop/major mistake count, one of my fellow and servers and I may make a game of it.
Today’s Spill Count: 1 and a half.
I stacked some plates too high before emptying them and they toppled. But no damaged just loud. Of course the HCBC board was there. Yep.
All good adventures have a back story, here is mine:
Last summer was spent the usual way; babysitting, bits at the beach, just going along. It was by no means a bad summer, there were lots of fun and exciting moments but college summers are loooonnnggg and I craved time with my peers. Six years ago my family spent our first vacation on Long Beach Island, traversing the Garden State Parkway, down 72 and across the causeway before turning right onto the Boulevard the spans the entire island from the tip at Barnegat Lighthouse to the very end of Holgate. Each and every year we would explore the southern end, spending the first few years in Beach Haven, renting our last summer on Joshua Ave. in Holgate before our family finally decided to buy and settle down on West Ave in Holgate just two houses from Beach Haven. Each of the past weeks away, I spent my time at the beach dreaming of ways to live down there for the entire summer. In November, Harvey Cedars Bible Conference came to my attention. We were down at our house over Thanksgiving weekend cleaning up from some minor damages due to Hurricane Sandy (I was exploring the wrecked beaches and houses in our beloved beach town) and I became really excited about the idea of working at Harvey Cedars on their summer staff. Once back home, I did some research and found out that you could basically be an RA at the beach. At Messiah I talked with a girl who had worked there previous summers as well as talked with her brother who was a Nauglet who worked there as well! I sent out my application over the winter and in March I found out that I was accepted (though not for the Room Counselor aka RA role, but still!). Harvey Cedars, unlike the other towns on LBI that I have stayed in, is located on the northern end of the island requiring beachcombers to make a left onto the Boulevard when arriving on the island. This will be my first summer making this left (besides visiting Harvey Cedars over Memorial Day Weekend just over a week ago). As I am about to embark on my journey I am excited for the opportunity but nervous about a few challenges, including the small crate of storage space of have to fit my stuff in, more conservative rules and my own anxieties about starting new and being away from home for the summer.
I began my packing yesterday, making sure to select clothes that meet the modest dress code while also keeping in mind limited space. Anyone who knows me knows that despite many, many efforts I do not pack light. I have too many craft supplies for that. Let’s just say that my college roommate freshman year went without shorts for the beginning of the school year because she saw Facebook pictures of what I was packing and got nervous that we would not have room in our supplemental triple. Anyway, I managed to pack most things into this suitcase, with a couple of additional bags but I think I did well. (The other caveat here is that I packed a separate bin to store at my beach house to make switches later in the summer if need be so I really didn’t have to struggle hard!)
So this morning was filled with last minute packing and counting my “Beach Fund Jar” of coins that I collect all summer. I got a total of $54.15! Not Bad! My check in time today is between 1-3pm so I will be leaving shortly to make the 2 hour trek. I’ve prepped a summer cd and have the Jeep top down for the occasion. The main feeling I have as I put the pedal to the gas to begin this journey is uncertainty. Uncertainty about my job as a server in the dining hall. Uncertainty about the friends to be made. Uncertainty about the schedules and hours of work. Uncertainty about the amount of beach time to be had. Uncertainty about any anxiety and homesickness. Uncertainty as to whether I will nail surfing. Uncertainty about about the adventure. Uncertainty about turning left. But turning left means something new. It means adventure. With every dream comes uncertainty but that doesn’t stop the dreamer, so with that I begin!
The Hobbit? It’s like seeing old friends.
Very, very old friends.
Almost half my lifetime has past since the smiles graced the lips of the victorious fellowship in the ending scenes of director Peter Jackson’s rendition of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Return of the King. I sat in the seats of the movie theatre for the second time after my own pack of middle school friends bounced in to watch the final scenes unfold on the big screen. The Return of the King seems to end multiple times, fans bracing for the end of the journey with each blackened screen, glad when scenes continue to fade back in allowing just a few extra minutes with beloved characters. When the credits finally rolled in, my 6th grade girlfriends were not ready to let go. We left the theatre and filled the following months with tales of our very own fellowship and the most devoted among us wrote histories of our characters. We spent the end moments of our lunch and recess time up on the hill behind the middle school eventually finding our own ring of sorts, a leftover rubber poly dot forgotten in some distant gym class. Our fellowship of overeager, giddy tweens defended our treasure against the band of rabble sixth grade boys, our own brand of orc. That poly dot was important to us. We dog-piled, tackled, and ran hard sprints to protect it. One day after school hours, I even had my mother take me back to school to rescue it from behind the heater fence because the boys had casually tossed it there in an act of spite as the whistle rang to return to class earlier that day. There was even a tale of the time one of my friends whipped the poly dot out from inside the binder of our enemy all the way across the reading classroom to another member to seal an epic victory for our fellowship. But eventually the legends faded and the adventure of those recesses spent battling the enemy broke down to today’s safety conscious school systems, the guidance counselor defusing our imaginations by banning our battles and reducing them to two hand touch. (On an aside, I would expect nothing less from a school system who banned tag in the elementary schools.)
The fellowship disbanded, though I continued to write about my own character upon meeting another diehard with whom I would watch the extended editions, the inspiration of the stories continuing to cling to our souls. When that came to a close, I hung onto the tales by scrawling “Dear Nin-Parma,” or “my book” as the Elvish goes, as the opening to the journal entries documenting my own journeys. Nine years have passed since Return of the King. The battles and victories of my own life have been underway. I have since left the halls of my middle school, ventured through the playing fields of high school sports and classes, graduated from my high school and journeyed to college, leaving home for the first time, a feat always looming grimly ahead of me that I’m proud to have charged sword in hand (as well as love and Christ in heart) to declare my biggest victory to date.
The sights of Middle Earth during the premiere of The Hobbit last Thursday night at midnight, during the end of my first semester of Junior year at Messiah College, warmed the embers that the Lord of the Rings trilogy inspired so long ago. Amidst the business of finals week and residence hall checkouts, the weight of the unveiling of this prequel did not quite hit my spirit until the moments directly leading up to the trip to the theatre. Upon my second viewing tonight, my cousin put it best, it’s amazing that you are watching and there is more. After years of watching and re-watching familiar reels and mouthing the same scripts, you are given more. Enabled to dive deeper. The Hobbit fills viewers with what they originally fell in love with. Familiar scores, scenes, faces and the same breath that enlivens spirits to some greater purpose beyond oneself, in sync with the inkling author’s own relationship with the divine. The epic motif of light versus dark permeates the movie when trolls find their defeat as dawn breaks and the cohort of dwarves defeats the goblins in the refuge of sunlight. Even the light from the fires of the pinecones provide protection from the pale orc and his minions.
The familiar scenes of the Shire tug the hearts of the audience right away and the meeting of the great overseers of Middle Earth alludes to the impending adventures, an excellent precursor that bridges the new tale to its forerunners. Following the meeting of Elrond, Saruman, Gandalf and the Lady of Lorien, the elf maiden asks Gandalf, why Bilbo?, and his response is of the breed of the monologues from the Lord of the Rings that caused those deeps stirrings many years ago. “Saruman,” he says, “believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps because I am afraid, and he gives me courage.”
I forgot the momentum of Tolkien’s divine inspiration breathed into his fantasy and am once again enlivened by his tales. I have had nine years of the everyday deeds of ordinary folk. What were my small acts of kindness and love? The Hobbit, and its familiar faces, asks us to look back. Yes, look back at the origins of an inspiring favorite, but also to look back at our own lives and see where our journey has led in the meantime. It calls us not to lose sight of the epic adventure ahead and invites us back into the tale to find our roots so that we too can engage in the combat of the ordinary folk that keeps darkness at bay.
The Hobbit, you ask?
Like seeing old friends.
This evening Rachel and I travelled down the Garden State Parkway through pockets of traffic and open highway, across the causeway and down Bay Avenue to our new LBI home. (And I still can not believe I am saying that, I am so blessed).
After pedaling to Slice of Heaven and gobbling down our favored white pizza, we ended up at the playground just a stone’s throw from the house. Eagerly, we dashed over wood-chips towards the playground favorite: the swing set.
Every time I begin pumping, kicking my feet toward the heavens, wind rushing past me as I drift back and forth, I am taken back to first grade. I can still distinctly remember the dainty classmate who would swing back and forth hair almost dragging the ground as she kicked her legs. She would jerk her head back on every up swing, her long, wavy, brown hair catching the breeze in just the right way leaving me dazzled (and envious from my toes all the way up) of my petite little peer. I longed for locks like hers so that one day I could be just as mesmerizing as I floated from the sky back towards Earth.
Now, thirteen or so years later I still want to be that girl. Every time I go on the swings I do feel just a little bit more beautiful inside. There is something about the playful charm of swinging. The swings make you sort of hope you are just like way you look; full of the spirited innocence of a child on the inside, all the while stunning on the outside, simply captivating all the way through.
Today I did not accomplish much because it was such a busy day with babysitting, my lacrosse clinic, field hockey, and gym workout.
A huge part of my life this summer; babysitting!